


On the road to detention

by harrietrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Detention, Fluff, Friendship, Headcanon, Modern Era, School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietrose/pseuds/harrietrose
Summary: It`s the detention AU I`ve wanted to write for forever!Basically, all of the barricade boys - before properly knowing one another, land themselves in detention. Each chapter will be one detention story.
Relationships: Combeferre & Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Bossuet

It had been a good day. He`d never enjoyed studying law, nor had he particularly enjoyed Mr Blondeau`s way of teaching. He was a cruel, cold man, with a nose as harsh as the rest of him. Still, it had been an even better day after his class. He was currently strolling along the streets of Paris, nodding playfully at the girls, nearly bouncing with joy, when he saw the man he`d subconsciously looking for. 

“Marius! You`re Marius, right?”

“I am – do I know you?”

“You don`t, and I do not know you.” Marius looked perplexed. “You were absent yesterday,” Bossuet stated, as if that explained everything. 

“Mayhaps,” he said, but the deep shade of red in his face gave it away. 

“Definitely so. Blondeau was doing roll call – the one with the malicious nose, who loves failing people. He was looking particularly evil that day, so when he got to Pontmercy, I called out present.”

“You really didn`t have to-”

“And that`s why you weren`t crossed off – and I were.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you see, he jumped back to the letter L, to Lesgle – me, that is – and I replied present, seeing as I was. Then he looked at me, gentle as a tiger, and said “If you are Pontmercy, you cannot be Lesgle. And then he crossed me off.”

“I am mortified! How horrendeous, -”

“Young man, let this serve as a lesson.”

“I really am so sorry, please, let me speak with him, a thousand apologies -”

“I am delighted!” Bossuet couldn`t hold his laughter. “I was about to become a lawyer, but you have saved me, young man! Do let this serve as a lesson,” he said, pointing a serious finger at him. “But I am indebted to you. You have saved me from a lot of hassle. Even so, I`ll see you in detention next week.”

“Detention?”

“Blondeau was feeling less nice yesterday,” he grimaced. 

“Is he ever nice,” Marius muttered, but blushed profusely as he realized Bossuet had heard. 

“Exactly so! He dished out two hours of detention for the both of us – said it`d teach us to mix our names up. See you then,” he grinned, before strolling once more.  
Poor Marius was left behind gaping, not particularly looking forward to detention, but looking forward to seeing the jolly fellow again.


	2. Jehan

The sun was shining and the birds were singing as the poet woke up. Winter was coming, and he loved taking advantage of the sun when it was around - but just this once, he was having a lie in. A gentle alarm went off, and he stretched lazily, sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Good morning,” he muttered happily to no one in particular. 

Walking to his closet, more awake by the minute, he chose his clothing in no particular way. He could spend ages perfecting an outfit, but in all honesty, they all ended up as if he`d just flung some clothes around (to an untrained eye at least). This particular morning, he`d found a skirt, an oversized sweater, and a thrifted coat. Glancing and approving himself one last time in the mirror, he grabbed his cup of coffee, and headed to the university. 

His mood came crashing in within the first 20 minutes. 

“Young man, what do you think you`re wearing?” 

Jehan looked up to see a teacher. He`d never had him personally, and frankly, he seemed to be the person who`d evoke misery for the sake of it – but Jehan decided he`d give him a chance. 

“Do you like it?” he asked. “I found this coat at-”

“I`m not talking about the coat – I`m talking about the skirt.”

“It`s 2020. Don`t you think it`s time we retire the mindset of gendering clothes?” 

Now Jehan was usually the mildest one in any group of people. He preferred speaking softly to shouting, flowers to guns, and sky gazing to screaming about politics (not that he wasn`t fond of it of course, but if he had the choice). He was shy, and seemed to be embarrassed whenever he spoke. Yet on a rare occasion, his timidness evaporated, he`d draw himself in full height, and speak clearly and eloquently, always without raising his voice, until he`d said his piece. This had all the potential to be such an occasion. 

“Now, now, dear,” the man said, though the last word was dripping with belittlement. “Though I am not personally inclined to wear such a piece, we have regulations. You see, the skirt must be beneath the fingertips,” he explained pitiably. 

“Is it so?” Jehan asked, for once bordering on sarcasm. 

“It is. And I cannot help but noticing that your skirt does not conform to such a regulation.”

Jehan quickly measured the skirt. “Good sir, it is the issue of a quarter of a finger. Will you not let the matter pass?” Jehan asked exasperatedly. 

“I am afraid I cannot,” the teacher smirked. “I`ll see you in detention on Friday.”

“Detention – no, you cannot mean. I am certain that whenever most people have too short skirts, they are sent home to change. My quarters are only a short distance from here-”

“I have said my piece. I will see you on Friday,” the teacher said dismissively, before turning away. 

Jehan was left behind shaking with frustration, already having made his mind up to wear skirts whenever that nasty teacher was around.   
Just then, Grantaire walked up to him. They`d only known each other since the start of the school year, seeing as they shared an art class. Though they were as day and night, they quickly discovered that they had much in common, and had been close ever since. Grantaire had already crashed at Jehan`s place several times, mostly when too drunk to walk home, and Grantaire had seen Jehan crying on various occasions (including, but not limited to, a Very Nice poem, his flower dying because it was wintertime, and whether the bears where cold when in hibernation). Grantaire had never seen him angry. 

“Hey, what`s going on?” he asked. 

Jehan was startled – he`d been too consumed in thought to notice his friend. 

“That son of a-”

“I don`t think I`ve ever heard you swear,” Grantaire interrupted, mildly impressed.

“I was going to say son of a gun,” Jehan blushed. 

“I`ll take it,” Grantaire shrugged. “But what`s going on?”

“That professor – he gave me detention – for wearing a skirt!” he erupted. 

“In 2020? Really?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows in disdain. 

“I know,” Jehan sighed. “Or well, the official reasoning is that it is too short.”

Grantaire eyed the skirt in question. “It`s not short. Slightly shorter than your fingertips, but I can`t see how it`d matter. And you have long fingers. Probably an excuse to send you to detention if anything,” he finished. 

“I know. That`s what makes so frustrating. But seeing as he has a valid reason-” Here Jehan made air quotations in the air – “I suppose I`ll have to show up.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Though if you really want to piss him off, you should show up to detention wearing a skirt.”

“You`re a genius,” Jehan grinned. He quickly looked at his watch. “I have to go, see you later,” he said as he kissed his friend`s cheek, usual Jehan style, and ran off. 

Grantaire was stood at the same spot, a whirlwind of ideas whirring around in his mind.


	3. Grantaire

Now Grantaire usually did not care for detention. Nor did he care as to why people were sent to detention. But with Jehan it was different. It was impossible not to love the shy, mild, kind poet, with an air of innocence only matched by that of a baby. The teacher had picked on Jehan, but he might as well have picked on Grantaire – he was not leaving his friend to the teacher`s evil claws. 

He`d planned it the rest of the day, picking up supplies, eyeing out a spot, doodling in hiding, until night time. Seeing as it was Monday, he was supposed to watch a classic movie with Jehan, but they`d have to reschedule. 

G: Hey, I`m sorry, but I have to cancel tonight

J: Is everything good? 

G: Yeah, I just have a project I have to finish

J: You caring about deadlines? That`s new 

G: Oh, shut up

G: This is special

J: No worries, hahah. What project is it? And do you need help? 

G: All good, thanks for offering. You`ll see tomorrow ; )

And at that he put away his phone and went to work. It took him hours, and it turned out much bigger than expected – but it might just be his favourite piece of art he`d ever made. 

The next day – despite a painful lack of sleep, he got up at the crack of dawn. 

G: Hey, I`ll walk you to class

J: great! Meet at the coffee place in 10?

G: see you there

Grantaire yawned. He`d definitely need the coffee. 

“Morning `Chetta. Has Jehan arrived?” 

“Not yet. Can I get anything started for you? You look as if you need it,” she teased. 

Grantaire laughed, but accepted the double espresso something she handed him. 

“You`re an angel in disguise,” he said. “I didn`t sleep much,” he admitted. 

“Something keeping you up?” There was worry in her gaze and sympathy in her voice. Musichetta really was an angel, Grantaire thought. 

“Just a one-time art project. It`s all good,” he smiled.

“Ooh, that blonde in your politics class?”

“Shut up, I haven`t seen him in ages,” but he laughed while claiming so. “No this is something else – I`ll show you, but I need to show Jehan first.”

“I`m definitely curious. Speaking of,” she said as he entered the café. 

“Morning, `Chetta,” he smiled. “Ooh, caramel latte?” he asked, sniffing the contents of the cup she handed him. 

“I don`t know how you do it,” she laughed. “You`ve got a better nose than half our staff. If you ever need a job,” she offered, but Jehan laughed it off. 

“Anyway, we`d better be off,” Grantaire said. “Things to do, stuff to see,” he grinned as he ushered Jehan out the door, winking at Musichetta. 

“Have fun boys,” was the last thing they caught as they went into the cold again. 

“So Jehan, I`ve been thinking.”

“You, thinking?” he gasped in mock horror. 

Grantaire only rolled his eyes. “What happened yesterday was… interesting,” he said, as the poet crinkled his nose dislike. “But I`ve got something to cheer you up.” 

Jehan eyed him carefully. “Grantaire, what are you planning?” 

“Trust me – you`ll like it. I need you to close your eyes and give me your hand,” he grinned mischievously.

“Grantaire, what is this?” Jehan was curious beyond measure (but a little nervous if he was honest), so he quickly complied. 

“Okay, there`s a branch there, mind the tree-”

“I can`t see the tree,” Jehan protested. 

“Left, duck! All right, tree to your right,” Grantaire instructed. 

“We`re in the park, aren`t we?”

“Maybe. Two more steps, okay and stop! Open your eyes.”

Jehan gasped. On the wall in front of him – which he quickly recognized as the back of the main building – was decorated in a bunch of people of all genders wearing skirts. 

“Grantaire – did you do this?”

“Possibly. But it`s a secret. And a protest to that horrendous teacher.”

Jehan was touched. Not only was Grantaire willing to land himself in trouble – the fact that he had spent hours to commemorate Jehan in a work of art was enough to make him tear up. The only thing he could do was fling himself at the artist, and embrace him warmly. 

“Thank you for this. You really are a wonder, you know that?”

Grantaire didn`t reply, but grinned into the poet`s shoulder. 

In the end, he confessed when the headmaster wrongly accused someone else of doing it. He was sad to see the art being covered up with dull, white paint again – but the stunned, grateful, happy look on Jehan`s face was worth weeks of detention in his opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo - two chapters in one! 
> 
> I didn`t want to leave you on the slightly sour note of last chapter, and I am really pleased with this one, so here you go! I am seriously enjoying writing this, but if you have any headcannons / ways the boys land themselves in detention, please shout! 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos warm my heart!
> 
> See you next chapter :)


	4. Combeferre

“So when the French revolution started in 1792-”

“1789,” Combeferre interrupted, hand in his air. 

“Right, 1789, they replaced the Ancien Regime with the constitutional monarchy,” the teacher continued. 

“To be fair, that wasn`t in 1792,” he muttered, earning himself a dirty look from the teacher. 

“Meaning that when they appointed Napoleon as First Consul in 1801-” 

“1799,” Combeferre mumbled, not catching the second dirty look directed at him. 

He was completely zoned out by the end of the lesson; the amount of careless mistakes combined with the disinterest of the teacher made it near painful to attend the course. It wasn`t even his major – he just took whatever subjects he could and had the time for, which meant it was even more frustrating when the teacher didn`t care at all for the topic. 

As soon as the lesson was over, he hastily packed his bag and headed for the door. The teacher coughed mildly, catching his attention. 

“Would you stay behind for a minute?”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows in scepticism, but stayed even so. The teacher spent a painstaking amount of time clearing his desk, talking to other students, and clearing the board. When he finally turned around, he even had the impudence to look surprised at Combeferre standing there. 

“Please, sit,” he bade him. 

Combeferre sat down. A few years earlier he might have been nervous, but he was far too annoyed for that at this point. The teacher waited a few seconds, eyeing him carefully. 

“It seems you have some issues with my methods of teaching?”

“It`s not your method, exactly,” Combeferre began carefully. The teacher waited in mock patience for him to continue. “It`s more a matter of content,” he explained. 

“The content?”

“It wasn`t entirely… correct.”

“Correct?”

Combeferre nearly lost his temper. “Surely, you heard me muttering throughout the lesson. It was littered with mistakes-” Combeferre abruptly stopped himself here, realizing he was bordering on being impudent. 

“Oh, really.” The teacher sat up straighter, as if this was the part he had been waiting for. 

“I only meant, that the facts you presented did not concur with the actual events.”

“Do you believe you would be better suited for the task?”

“I never claimed-”

“I`ve never seen such rudeness, such lack of respect for authorities in my life!”

If Combeferre had any less patience, or any more recklessness, he`d mutter something about respect where respect was due. Instead he bit his tongue. 

“That warrants a warning, mister.”

“You cannot be angry with me for being correct!”

“Perhaps not, but I can give you detention you for being rude.”

“Rude? I only did-” He needed a moment to breathe. “I think it would benefit the entire class if the facts were correct. I only wish to help.”

“I will see you in detention. That`s all.” He closed his notebook to underline this, before opening another book, and pretending not to see Combeferre. 

Combeferre inhaled sharply, as if about to say something, but bit his tongue, and walked briskly out instead. Once outside, he leaned against the wall and groaned in frustration. Getting detention was by no means fun, but the fact that his teacher was such a goatheaded, stubborn arse was what really ticked him off. He realized he`d been muttering the last part aloud, when he realized another curly-haired student was staring at him. 

“Sorry,” he said, abashed. 

“Rough day?”

“Rough teacher,” he sighed, pinching his nose beneath his glasses. 

“Which teacher?”

“Anderson, history.”

“Oh no, he`s one of the evil ones.”

“The evil ones?” 

“Well, my friends and I had a sitdown where we categorized the evil ones. He`s most definitely one of them,” the brown-haired guy explained, while scrunching his nose in a most charming way. 

“I`m Combeferre,” he introduced himself. 

“Courfeyrac. Pleasure,” he grinned while shaking his hand. “Though I do wish the circumstances had been happier,” he said sheepishly. 

“No matter,” Combeferre smiled. “What is your major?”

“Law, you?”

“Medicine.”

“And you`re doing history?”

“It`s an extra – I usually love it.”

“Usually?”

“I have come to find it depends on the teacher,” he explained humorously. 

“Who`d have thunk it,” Courfeyrac laughed. 

Combeferre couldn`t help but laughing with him. 

“I`m sorry, but I really have to leave. Turns out Anderson also teaches English history, which I am currently taking” Courfeyrac deadpanned. 

“Goodness,” Combeferre said. “I hope I didn`t ruin the class for you before it started.”

“No matter,” he said, unknowingly mirroring the other. “I have already heard enough to scare me to death,” he said in mock horror, but couldn`t stop a grin from portruding.

Combeferre laughed once more. “At any rate, best of luck,” he said, before they bid each other goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading!! 
> 
> I am almost through with planning reasons for detention, but as always I adore suggestions, comments and kudos! Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> See you next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once more for reading! Kudos and comments and suggestions make me v happy, but feel free!   
>  See you next chapter :)


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